


Make It Weird

by LearnedFoot



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Background Guardians, Hurt/Comfort, IN SPACE!, Injury Recovery, M/M, Mission Fic, Rescue, Sharing a Bed, Touch-Starved, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25768729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnedFoot/pseuds/LearnedFoot
Summary: A mission told in three nights spent together.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 29
Kudos: 217
Collections: Battleship 2020, Battleship 2020 - Yellow Team





	Make It Weird

**Author's Note:**

  * For [intoxicatelou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/intoxicatelou/gifts).



_1._

Being undercover as poor, lost tourists on an alien planet means they can’t really do much when they’re informed they’ve accidentally been booked in a hotel room with only one bed, and no, there are no extra rooms available.

“There are extra rooms,” Tony grumbles to Peter as they stare at the nondescript room, with its slightly stained fabric chairs and bland wall art. Turns out cheap space hotels are about as boring as cheap Earth hotels. “There are always extra rooms if you throw enough cash at the problem. Or units or whatever it is they like out here. Gold? Everyone likes gold, right?”

“That would draw attention,” Peter reminds him for the third time in the short journey from the check-in desk to the room. “Welcome to how the other ninty-nine point nine-nine percent live. Probably more, if you factor in the aliens.”

He fails to stop himself from sounding petulant. Honestly, he’s a little insulted. He knows Mr. Stark is used to nicer accommodations, but it’s starting to feel like he specifically hates the idea of spending the night in the same bed as Peter. Which, like, he gets it’s not glamorous, but he doesn’t smell or anything (he discreetly doubled-checked on the way up). And Mr. Stark has done more uncomfortable things than share a bed for a mission before.

Unless...

Wait. Fuck.

What if Mr. Stark’s somehow figured out Peter’s long-time crush developed into something rather more than a crush in the years he was gone? Peter’s been trying to keep the way his heart goes double speed every time he sees his resurrected mentor under wraps, but he doesn’t have the best track record with secrets.

Oh, god. What if Mr. Stark is totally uncomfortable sharing with him because he’s made it weird?

“I can sleep on the floor if you want,” he offers.

Tony gives him a startled double-take. “No, no need for that. Unless you want to. If you’re not comfortable. It’s a free country. Er, universe. I’m not going to stop you.”

If Peter didn’t know better, he’d say Mr. Stark seems flustered.

Yep, Peter definitely made it weird.

***

Despite the weirdness, Peter decides to skip the floor, because it’s really uncomfortable and a crick in the neck is the last thing he needs in the middle of a mission on an alien planet. At least the bed is huge, which means he can studiously make sure they stay far apart and don’t touch. Not even a little bit. Not even when his fingers itch to reach out for the person he so recently got back, just to make sure he’s really there.

(Okay, not _just_ for that. But...mostly.)

It takes him a long time to fall asleep.

***

When he wakes up, he discovers he’s rolled over in his sleep, and is now nestled against Mr. Stark’s side. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

But when he tries to pull away, he realizes Mr. Stark has flung an arm around him in his sleep. It’s warm and heavy and feels really good. Like, _really_ good. Peter-hasn’t-touched-anyone-like-this-in-a-long-time good.

So, what if he stays in that embrace for a few minutes before slowly sliding out and getting on with his day?

No one needs to know.

_2._

Thirty minutes ago, they were battling their way out of fire so thick Peter’s lungs still fill with daggers every time he breathes, but now they’re huddled together in a wind-battered cave with temperatures dropping below zero and only a single blanket between them. At least it’s a Vibranium reinforced blanket. Next time Peter sees Shuri he should ask her how that works. And also thank her, profusely. Without the blanket, they’d probably be dead.

Well, he might not be. But Mr. Stark? His suit malfunctioned in an unexpected atmospheric shift, and he has a terrible burn up one arm, and he keeps hacking like his lung is about to fall out, and, and—

Yeah, Peter owes Shuri dinner or something. He’s not really sure how you thank a princess, but right now he’s also not sure he’s ever been more grateful to anyone for a random invention.

Even with the blanket, Mr. Stark is shivering so hard Peter’s scared he’s going to fall apart. He wraps an arm around him; it’s probably a sign of how out of it he is that Mr. Stark melts into the touch rather than protest. He’s been a little weird about touching Peter over the last few days, ever since the Bed Incident, but apparently being near death brings down the barriers.

“I hate space,” Mr. Stark says weakly, head falling to Peter’s shoulder. “Stupid planets with their fires and their wind and...” He coughs, a watery sound that makes Peter’s heart skip a beat.

“Don’t talk,” Peter warns. “Come on, Mr. Stark, let’s lie down.”

Mr. Stark shakes his head. “No. Can’t.”

“On your right side,” Peter says patiently, assuming Mr. Stark is worried about his burn. But Mr. Stark shakes his head again.

“Can’t lie down with you, kid.”

Peter’s stomach drops. Of course. That’s how little he’s wanted: life or death situation, Mr. Stark would rather risk death than have Peter curled around him, keeping him warm. He forces back tears; they’d just freeze on his lashes and make things even more uncomfortable.

“Really, sir, you have to. For your safety. I promise I won’t make it weird. It’s just basic science, body heat...”

He trails off because Mr. Stark has turned his head and is _nudging his nose against Peter’s neck_. Nuzzling. Nuzzling is the word. For a moment Peter can’t breath in a way that has nothing to do with the smoke that’s still burning his lungs. Then he coughs, because oh yeah, smoke still burning his lungs.

Mr. Stark just nuzzles closer. “Calm down, Pete,” he whispers, as if Peter’s the one who needs taking care of, here. “I’m not—I’m the one who will make it weird.”

“I, um—” That can’t possibly mean what it sounds like. Mr. Stark is probably borderline delusional at this point. Right? Right. Definitely. “It won’t be weird, promise. For either of us.”

Heart beating harder than it did in the middle of the fire, Peter begins maneuvering them to the ground. They can argue about it in the morning, when Mr. Stark isn’t half passed out and their lives aren’t hanging in the balance. Fortunately, Mr. Stark doesn’t actually try to stop him, beyond a few more muttered protests, which give way to a contented sigh when Peter finally wraps his arms around him from behind, plastering himself to his back.

“This is nice. I missed touching,” is the last thing Mr. Stark says, before his body slumps into sleep.

Yeah, Peter agrees, pressing his face into the back of Mr. Stark’s neck, trying to get a hint of the smell of his skin under all the smoke. It’s really nice.

***

They don’t talk about it the next morning, because the next morning, Mr. Stark doesn’t wake up.

_3._

Fortunately, the Guardians get there in time. Peter is able to give them the mysterious stone they’d desperately been searching for—he’s happy to have it out of his hands, because even though he has been assured it’s not dangerous, mystery stones from space are kind of something he’s completely over—and they’re able to patch Mr. Stark up in return.

He even wakes up briefly, long enough to call Peter’s name. Peter is by his side in seconds, and almost chokes when he sees the fond smile on his mentor’s face.

“Just needed to see you alive,” Mr. Stark explains. His good hand catches Peter’s wrist. “Now I can rest easy. Blue Meanie is giving me the good stuff.” He lets go and waves at the IV in his arm. “See you on the other side.”

Then he falls asleep again.

***

Peter lets the Guardians cajole him into eating, but he doesn’t give in when they try to get him to sleep in a real bed. It’s silly, he knows. Mr. Stark is fine, he’s only passed out because of the space equivalent of morphine. But that doesn’t make him any more willing to leave his side, so eventually the team gives him a comfortable chair and a blanket and tells him to do what he wants, he’s not their responsibility.

Though that doesn’t stop Quill from pausing before he leaves Peter alone with Mr. Stark. “Want some advice, kid?” he asks.

Not really, but that would be rude to say, so Peter shrugs a nod.

“Tell him how you feel. You never know when it will be too late.”

It’s surprisingly insightful, for someone who comes off like a ten-year-old in an adult’s body most of the time. Peter nods, more firmly this time, and Quill leaves with a final thumbs up.

***

Peter watches Mr. Stark for a long, long time, mind slipping into exhausted nothing as he takes in the steady rise and fall of his chest. As long as he’s breathing, everything is okay.

Eventually, he has to admit he needs to sleep himself. He finds a spot on the bed, next to Mr. Stark’s stomach, where there’s enough room for him to lay his head without touching. It leaves him awkwardly bent in half, butt still in his chair, head on Mr. Stark’s small bed, but it also means he can hear Mr. Stark’s breathing and the steady beat of his heart.

“I love you, sir,” he whispers. “I love you so much. I couldn’t stand it if you died again.”

He knows this isn’t what Quill meant, but it’s the closest he’s going to get to admitting the truth. It does, at least, feel good to say out loud.

***

He wakes up with Mr. Stark’s hand in his hair, and when he looks up, he’s met with that same fond expression from the day before.

Peter’s immediate instinct is to jump back, apologize profusely for failing to respect personal space— _again—_ but Mr. Stark tightens his grip slightly, enough to tell his to stay in place. Which he does, hesitantly repositioning himself so that his cheek rests on Mr. Stark’s stomach instead of the bed. Mr. Stark’s muscles flex at the touch, but he doesn’t push him away.

“Hi,” Peter says, for lack of anything better coming to mind. “You’re awake.”

Mr. Stark’s smile gets wider. “Very observant. A real Einstein we’ve got here.”

“Mean.” Peter playfully swats at Mr. Stark’s side, as if he’s insulted, but his delight must show on his face. There’s no way he can hide it. It’s met by delight on Mr. Stark’s face, too.

They drop into a comfortable silence for a few minutes, Mr. Stark’s fingers brushing through Peter’s hair in long, steady strokes, Peter drinking in the sound of his breathing, so much clearer than the day before.

“You know,” Mr. Stark finally says, conversationally. “I couldn’t stand it if you died again, either.”

Peter’s world tilts for a moment, and when it realigns, he feels like he’s lost his footing entirely. “I—you heard that?”

“Mmm,” Mr. Stark hums.

And here he is, with his hand in Peter’s hair, not flinching away from his touch. Which means—what? “And when you say you couldn’t stand it if I died...”

“All of it,” Mr. Stark confirms. “I mean all of it.”

Oh. That’s why—oh. Peter almost laughs at how they’ve been dancing around each other.

“So if I crawled into this bed with you right now, that wouldn’t be making it weird?”

“Well, it’s barely big enough for one person, so it’ll probably still be weird.” Mr. Stark scoots over, making room and extending his right arm, the one without the burn. “But I’ve always liked weird.”

As Peter goes to join him he decides yeah, he likes weird, too.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, feedback is loved (including any typos you catch...I wrote a lot in the last few weeks, I imagine there are some.)
> 
> This was originally written for an exchange, and re-dated for author reveals. I'm sorry if you've seen it already.


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